


I'm not crying, you're crying

by orphan_account



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2885474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker had since gotten over his bad feelings over war, and his low self esteem, his stomach and mind settling and his brief episode of depression seizing to a confident boil. Pride and a sense of heroism swelled in his heart and hugged his gut. He had since walked with a smile and with his back straight, and even began to exercise without being told.  </p><p>So why is he crying?</p><p>Washington Helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm not crying, you're crying

**Author's Note:**

> For Kiticath on tumblr as a Secret Santa <3
> 
> Here you are! I am SOOOOOOOOO sorry I'm late!!  
> Holidays have been wearing me out and it's been so busy but that's honestly no excuse.  
> Happy late Christmas!
> 
> Enjoy and please leave a comment if there's anything wrong<3
> 
> And I know there are mistakes, and all the short paragraphs are really hard to read, but right now the computer I'm using only has word online, which doesn't let me look at grammar mistakes and editing in AO3 is extremely hard too, so I'll let you know when it is updated!

After the dust had settled between the Feds and New Republic, and both army and militia had since gotten used to each other's presence, Chorus had reunited under easy terms and battle strategies began to develop against what was only known as 'Control'. War was amongst the Reds and Blues and Chorus, but as Control's army had retreated with their tails between their legs soon after the battle of Armonia, the air had a sense of confidence and tranquility. 

Tucker had since gotten over his bad feelings over war, and his low self esteem, his stomach and mind settling and his brief episode of depression seizing to a confident boil. Pride and a sense of heroism swelled in his heart and hugged his gut. He had since walked with a smile and with his back straight, and even began to exercise without being told. 

So why is he crying? 

Tucker attempted to swallow the lump down his throat, but the more he swallowed the bigger it got. He stared up at his empty ceiling, the slight glow coming from the bathroom door that was cracked open. But the glow had blurred as water threatened his eyes. He sniffed and swiped the back of his hand under his nose. Then pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. Tucker groaned and just rubbed his entire face, sitting up. 

'Why am I crying?', he thought. His stomach churned and a heat curled around his stomach, and his heart tightened. His mind wandered back several months ago, to a specific day where he had came to Washington with a hung head and a heavy heart. The sadness he felt then pained him now, as he thought about the death of the individuals. Death he had caused. 'Oh. That's why I'm crying.' 

The lump in his throat suddenly turned into a snake, slithering up his throat. He dashed towards the bathroom and threw open the toilet. Tucker gripped the sides of the toilet and closed his eyes tight, pressing his lips together and swallowing harshly, waiting for his dinner to come up. He stared into the empty toiled bowl and waited. Instead of puke hitting the water, it was tears. He watched the water react to the droplets and his lip quivered. More drops hit the water, then more, and suddenly Tucker leaned back against the wall and pressed his face in his hands. 

'Fuck.' He finished his short cry and got up slowly, smearing the tears on his damp hands. He turned his head towards the mirror and frowned. 

He never felt self conscious of anything towards his body. Especially now, after joining the Blue Army, and after Washington came along, he was nicely shaped. Not too shabby facial features, strong eyebrows and pretty lips. Tucker wrinkled his face in disgust and looked away. Nobody looked good while crying, or after crying especially. And if there was anything physical he would change about himself it would obviously be the fact that he can't grow any facial hair, or that the hair on his head was too short and shaggy for any type of dreads. 

Tucker thought back. Oh, how his dad and brother rocked those fucking dreads. He was cursed with his mom's hair, his dad said. It was too short and too white to even be able to do anything to it, except for shave or buzz it. It never grew past two and a half inches. He wrinkled his nose again. 

Tucker looked back, though, back at the mirror. His face was swollen and red. He immediately turned to the shower and cranked up the heat, stripping himself from his boxers. 

This is what he did, whenever he was stuck in this sadness. He would take a hot shower, and think it over. Think about the situation at hand, think about the steps he's going to take next, and how the fuck he was going to solve it. That's what his dad thought him. 

'God what did I do whenever things like this happen?' He thought back to after every death of every soldier held accountable under his name. He shivered. What'd he do? Tucker only remembered crying a lot, and just staying up awake at night, and not eating. 'Fuck', Tucker thought. 'This is just making me sadder.' 

He stood for a moment, letting the hot water run down his face and stomach, making his skin red. 

Tucker swallowed as a thought came to mind. 'Oh yea.', he thought. 'Washington.' He stood for a couple minutes more, contemplating if he should just go back to bed or if he should go see Washington, but the sudden sobs that choked him (at the thought of his fallen soldiers), convinced him otherwise. 

"Fuck", Tucker exhaled out loud. His voice and body shook, and he quickly turned off the hot water and stepped out. A wave of cool air hit him and he shivered violently. "Fuck", he repeated. He quickly wrapped himself with a towel and avoided the mirror as he stepped out into his cool room. Tucker glanced at the clock and frowned. It was 2:23 a.m. The time discouraged him, but the sadness that swelled in his chest encouraged him further. 

Tucker bit his knuckles and ran his hand through his hair, before searching for a sweatshirt. 

\-- 

Washington was always a light sleeper, especially when he was in Freelancer. A soft knock was always able to wake him, never fully of course, but enough for him to notice. He blinked open his eyes, and slowly got up, shuffling towards the door where the soft knocks were coming. It took a few minutes, but the person knocking only paused for a couple of moments. 

He didn't bother to look at the clock, knowing it was already late into the night. 

He shuffled towards the door and unlocked it, opening it slowly. Washington winced as the hall light hit his eyes but quickly adjusted to see Tucker standing at his door. Washington frowned and rubbed at his eyes, yawning. "Hey Tucker. What’s up?" Washington opened his eyes further and straightened his back, popping it. He stopped mid-stretch when he noticed Tucker hadn't replied. He looked down and frowned as he noticed Tucker's red swollen eyes. 

"Tucker?" 

"I really need someone right now, Washington." His voice cracked. 

Washington ushered him in, turning on the little lamp next to the door before shutting the door and locking it. He turned around to see Tucker already sitting on the bed with his face in his hands. He wasn’t crying, but it was pretty obvious that earlier he was. Something told Washington not to ask, and for whatever reason he trusted his gut and only sat next to him. 

Tucker was taking jagged breaths, obviously trying to keep from melting into a puddle. He rubbed at the side of his face and stared at the floor with wide, sad eyes. His jagged breaths quickened, and it began to turn into hyperventilation. Usually, people would be very uncomfortable in this situation but Washington has had his experiences. 

The Freelance Program was no place for crying, but being the most 'innocent' and childish one out of the group at the time... Well, he was the person to go to in the middle of the night when trouble was on your mind, whether it be sadness or fury. He was a listener. 

Washington pressed his palm lightly on Tucker's heaving back, and began to slowly rub circles. He leaned in, but not too close, and looked at Tucker with a calm face but a small frown. "Tucker, you need to take light breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth." 

Tucker didn't seem to hear him, and didn't notice the light hand pressed against him, and kept on with his distant, scared staring and his hyperventilation. His hands shook at the sides of his face as he leaned over. Washington lightly took one of the shaking hands into his, and held it by his lap. Tucker finally looked at him. 

His eyes got wetter and his stomach churned and he sucked in his breath, and paused. Washington nodded, and Tucker let it out in a shaky sigh. Then he started sobbing uncontrollably, falling towards Washington for any sign of relief or even the slightest bit of comfort. Washington reacted with bearing arms, hugging him tightly and holding the back of his head as Tucker buried his wet face into his neck. 

Honestly, Washington had never seen Tucker act this way before. Tucker had never found himself in a situation much like this, he didn't know why he was sobbing uncontrollably, but both of their guesses were that things just had caught up to him, like a train. Washington didn't have to ask to know, and Tucker didn't care to tell anyway. 

He just sobbed and sobbed until that sobbing turned into whimpers that turned into sad hiccups, then just silent sitting. Washington held him until he stilled, until no sounds or tears came from him but a few sniffs. Eventually Washington peeled away from Tucker and took his head into his hands. 

Tucker's face was swollen and wet, fluids running from his eyes, nose, and mouth. He looked defeated and tired, his eyes and mouth drooping like the liquid that had come out of them, the gravity of sadness tugged hard at his posture and he looked like he might disappear if Washington looked away even for a moment. 

So, Washington got up slowly and walked to the bathroom, flicking on the light and wincing at it's sudden brightness, but quickly got to work. Moments later, Washington returned and sat in front of Tucker again, this time with a warm towel. He pressed the towel lightly against Tucker's swollen skin and smiled as Tucker sighed and leaned against the towel, a small sign of relaxation showing gave Washington a beam of satisfaction. 

After ridding his face from the loose fluids, and soothing the swelling and redness, they hadn't talked much. Tucker practically passed out the second Washington came back from the bathroom (after tossing the towels in the hamper). They had fallen asleep with their backs pressed tightly together. But eventually, Washington had woken up to find himself with his arms wrapped around Tucker, who slept soundly. 

It was early morning when Washington woke, quickly getting up to avoid confrontation about the unintentional snuggling. He didn't mind having his arms wrapped around Tucker, especially with what had happened, but it was more like the small bed forced his crotch to be up against Tucker's butt. 

Washington hadn't gotten a boner in years, the Freelance Program made sure of that, but it was one of those things that wasn't worth risking. He quickly retreated to the bathroom to take his usual morning shower, knowing very well it was nearly 6 in the morning. He had slept in. 

Washington jumped out after turning off the cold water and wrapped himself in a towel after wiping away the moisture that gathered on the mirror. His once dark-brown sideburns had begun to sink into a dark grey, silver hairs begun to clearly show. The grey clashed with his blonde hair at the top of his head, which made him curious as how his blonde hair (that was dyed years ago) hadn't begun to show roots yet. It was a curious thing. 

He shook it off, as always. He never cared to dye it again because he was becoming older, and with becoming older comes with looking older. Technically, with his actual birth date, he wasn't what one would consider "old", but how he's been living his life, the aging process seemed to speed up. He tossed that thought away, and got dressed. He opened the door, expecting a sleeping Tucker, only to see that he was gone. 

\-- 

That day sucked hard for Washington. He hadn't seen a sign of Tucker and worry began to lodge itself deep into his belly. Training, food, leisure, even during meetings. Nobody else had seen him, nobody else had heard from him, and nobody else was worried. 

"He's probably taking the day off." From Simmons. 

"Who cares?" From Grif. 

"I don't know Washington, but if I see him you'll be the first to know! He's probably having alone time. Wink wink, nudge nudge." Ugh, Donut. 

"He's having happy time!" UGH! Caboose! 

Kimball, Church, Carolina, Sarge. Nobody, nobody, nobody was helping. Washington did consider maybe going to see him at his room, but instead took everybody else's thoughts into consideration. If he needs time for himself, he needs time for himself and Washington shouldn't interrupt that. But it still didn't stop him from feeling sickly about the idea. 

He didn't see Tucker for another three days, but after making his usual round of questions concerning Tucker to the gang, it ended up that Tucker was out of his bunk and stalking around. 

"I mean, it's not our business man. He's just grabbing food and going", Grif scoffed. 

"Why are you so concerned anyway? It's been Tucker this and Tucker that for, like, a week now", Simmons rolled his eyes. 

"It doesn't bother you that Tucker has only been coming out of his bunk for food and that’s it?" 

"Man, that sounds like the life." 

"Ugh, shutup Grif," Washington rolled his eyes. 

"He's probably standing you up," Simmons said, matter-of-factly. 

"What?," Washington backed, completely confused. 

"I saw Tucker go into your room in the middle of the night, and whatever you two did together you probably did something wrong," Simmons raised an eyebrow, smirking as Grif chortled at his comment. 

Washington's face burned and was secretly glad that he had his helmet on at the moment. He clenched his fists and snapped back, "Oh, don't even talk Simmons. I'll have you know I room next to Grif and the walls between us aren't exactly sound proof." 

Simmons and Grif immediately looked away and avoided eye contact with each other and Washington, blushes burning brightly on their faces. Washington snorted in satisfaction and looked away. Washington wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion, seeing as Caboose had joined their circle at an unknown time, and surprisingly keeping quiet the entire time. 

In fact, the more Washington examined Caboose the more he noticed the look on his face and his body language and... 

"Caboose, you know something about Tucker." 

Caboose quickly averted his eyes from Washington, shifting them in every direction except forward. "Wha- What are you talking about? Know something about Tucker? Who's Tucker?" 

"Caboose." 

Caboose frowned and began to bounce back and fourth between his feet like he need to pee. "Mr. Washington, Tucker told me not to tell." 

"Caboose." 

"He doesn't want to see you right now." Caboose blurted, then swallowed and let out a sigh of relief, like he did just pee himself. Washington hoped not, but at the moment he was distracted as something struck in his heart, causing him to frowned away. 

"Told you so." 

"Ugh, shutup Simmons." Washington quickly turned and stalked off towards his bunker. 

\-- 

The next day Washington did see Tucker, quickly grabbing along at the food court and leaving. Washington didn't get up to ask what was going on, but instead felt a harsh pain in his chest when they had made eye contact, which resulted in Tucker quickening his pace. 

The pain continued all the way back to his bunker, where he retreated to "take the day off". It was until he sat on his bed, and began to rub his face, that he noticed the knots in his stomach and the quickening pace of his heart. Washington blinked, and looked at his hands. 

"What is this?", he thought out loud. "Am I sick, am I coming down with the flu?" He contemplated the symptoms, thinking about what it could possibly be. Fast heart rate, quaky stomach, throat feeling like it's closing, often time headaches... 

Washington groaned. 

He's known his sexuality for a long long time, it was never a problem. When he was younger he group in a place where it was okay to be what he was, but he never believed it. He never bothered to tell anyone either. He was placed into the Freelancer Program at a young age, in his early twenties. And he quickly found his suspicions to be true. 

He found York so attractive. Oh, he remembers York so fondly. But Freelancer was no place for crushes, sexuality, or any of the sort. There were no outbursts about it, nobody in the program had a problem with it, it was just a secret rule. But never, never had he felt this churning for anyone ever. Not even before Freelancer, he never really cared. 

This really can't be what he think it is. He shook his head, and stood up. 

\-- 

It's been two weeks since Tucker talked to Washington. The first week, Tucker had been avoiding Washington, but for the past week Washington has been avoiding Tucker. Tucker couldn't imagine why, he didn't go out of his way to look for him but he was still curious as to what the hell was Washington's problem. Maybe the same reason why Tucker had avoided him for a week. 

Nah. 

Unreal. 

"Ugh, he's probably avoiding me because-" He stopped mid thought as a heavy knock pounded at his door. He rolled his eyes and stalked over. And, upon swinging the door open, there stood Washington. Tucker wasn't that surprised, okay maybe he was, just a little. 

"Hey." 

"Hey." 

Tucker bit his lip. "Hey." 

Washington frowned and rubbed the back of his neck and looked away awkwardly. "We need to talk." 

"Yeah." 

"Can I come in then?" 

"Oh, yeah." Tucker moved aside as Washington hesitantly stepped in, shutting the door behind him. Tucker didn't turn around, and neither did Washington, their backs facing one another. Washington sighed, and opened his mouth to speak. 

"Listen..." He slowly turned around, facing Tucker's back only to advert his eyes to the floor. "I think-" 

Tucker turned around suddenly and cut Washington off. "I love you." 

Washington blinked at Tucker's sudden advanced approach. Then he smiled. Then he begun to laugh. Tucker's confident stance faltered, along with his smile, as he took a step back. Washington frowned at this and took a step forward. 

"Oh no, Tucker I didn't mean to laugh, I didn't mean to laugh I-" 

"Then why the fuck did you laugh?" 

"Tucker you're just so sudden, I-" 

"What? Do you not- Am I not-" Tucker tumbled over his words, baffled and absolutely furious. He began to back up and glared harshly as he tried to find the words. 

"Tucker!" 

"What?!" Tucker snarled. 

"Tucker, I love you too!" Washington beamed and offered a hand. Tucker glared cautiously at his hand and then up at him. 

"Tucker, I love you," Washington repeated, this time with a more serious tone and face. He had lost his frown in the process, but still offered his hand. Tucker's eyes had softened and he looked at the hand, cautiously grabbing it, and then looking up at Washington with a smile. 

Washington slowly pulled Tucker into a hug, who obliged gladly, and pressed his lips against the side of his head. "We still need to talk about it," Washington said. 

"Yeah," Tucker replied, softly. "I know."  
Washington slowly pulled Tucker into a hug, who obliged gladly, and pressed his lips against the side of his head. "We still need to talk about it," Washington said. 

"Yeah," Tucker replied, softly. "I know."


End file.
